Surrender, Surrender:
by Snarkcasm
Summary: but don't give yourself away...The inevitable teacher!Jensen, student!Cougar fic. You're welcome, world. Officially on HIATUS. It's been a long time coming.
1. Surrender, Surrender

**Author**: Snarkcasm  
**Title**: Surrender, Surrender (But Don't Give Yourself Away)  
**Rating**: Mild T throughout. K+ in this section for naughty words.  
**Summary**: The inevitable teacher!Jensen, student!Cougar fic  
**Warnings**: Nothing really. Unbeta-ed...but that's never stopped me before!  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Losers or its characters. It's all Jock and Diggle and DC Vertigo's domain. I'm just a poor schmuck who enjoys the movie to pieces.  
**Progress: **Good question.

* * *

Jensen takes a deep breath and refuses to fiddle with his day-glo orange tie. He's a teacher now; he has to be professional or…something to that effect. "How many people know their way around computers?" As expected, only a few, more nerdy students raise their hands. Jensen tries not to grin and puts his hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Okay, let's be honest, how many people are taking this class for an easy A?" Quite a few more hands. Actually, make that the entire class, minus a few affronted techno geeks and this really quiet student in the front row with an unnerving stare.

He can't stop his large grin or his laugh. He composes himself and holds out his hands, palm out. "Okay, okay. I got it. Well, I can't say this class is going to be easy or you're gonna love computers by the time semester ends, but you're here 'cause you're kinda forced to attend school, which sucks—yeah, yeah— and I'm paid to teach, so let's get started." A few kids laugh and he can feel the tension (of being a new teacher, of the first day of class) melt away. He grabs the roster and begins taking roll and assigning lab stations. "…Alvarez, Carlos?" The silent kid with the unnerving stare lifts up an eyebrow in acknowledgement. Okaaay, strange. He marks him here anyway and continues on. "Computer 5. Anderson, Matthew—computer 6…" Once all the students are assigned their computers, he signs onto the master computer and pulls a worksheet up on the projection screen. He explains it in-depth with a few examples before sending them to practice. It's just basic Excel, mind-dulling busywork, but it'll make the technophiles feel superior and challenge the majority of the class. He has an alternative, more difficult, worksheet for those who finish first.

He leans back into his seat with a huge grin. He's got this. Hell, he's the master. He's…really, really bored. Drumming his fingers against the sleek desk top, he decides to do his very first walk-through. He always hated checking up on his student's progress while student teaching; it always made him feel like a huge creep. Even now, he feels out of place until one of his students, Marla Garcia, raises her hand and asks for his help. She bats her eyelashes and displays her _awesome_ cleavage, but he's gay. And her teacher. But, it's mostly the gay thing.

Her question is easy and he answers it as professionally as he could before moving to the next student. He feels eyes on him and he looks up, catching Alvarez's unreadable stare. He shivers and puts extra help in helping Timothy Claywell with his formatting problem. There's something about Carlos Alvarez that creeps him out—the kid's way too intense. And, from where he's standing, Alvarez isn't doing anything; his screen is totally blank. Both girls on either side of him lean into his workspace and try to chat him up. Alvarez just smiles crookedly and one of them softly squeals, blushes, and returns to her computer. The other one is aggressive and leans into him.

Jensen wants to be the cool, slightly eccentric, teacher, so he doesn't outright embarrass Alvarez. He just politely and professionally writes him an email about staying behind after class and knows that Alvarez got the message loud and clear when dark eyes meet his again. Jensen tries not to squirm in his seat.

He's not dreading the bell inasmuch he's…totally dreading the bell. He's not a disciplinarian, but he doesn't want any student to flunk his class because they couldn't grasp something easily taught. He can hear his old advisor, Aisha al-Fadhil, in his head:

_"You're gonna be a high school teacher, Jensen. You teach computers. If you want my advice—and let's face it, you need it or you wouldn't be here—it's not your business to be personal. This ain't _Stand and Deliver, _it'__s real life with real consequences. __Attachment equals lawsuits and possible jail time. Your job is to help get them from point A to point B: college, hopefully.__"_ Man, but she was badass. Her partner, Franklin Clay, ran the high school here, which is partly why he decided to apply.

The bell rings during his trip down memory lane and he nearly jumps. "Have a good night, guys." He waves from his seat, psyching himself up for his first one-on-one meeting. When the room is empty save for Alvarez, Jensen gestures for him to take a seat. The kid regards him from underneath his loose curls and slides in the offered seat. It just isn't fair; at Alvarez's age, Jensen was all coltish limbs and awkwardness.

"Mr. Alvarez—"

"Cougar."

He pauses at the deep, accented voice. "Um, excuse me?"

"They call me 'Cougar'."

"Why?" He doesn't want to know why one corner of the boy's mouth curls up in a smirk. He really doesn't. He shuffles some papers around trying to look important. "Mr. Alvarez," he stresses. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Really? Why didn't you do your in-class assignment?" Cougar stares at him, hot and heavy and _smoldering_, and he suppresses a shiver. He clears his throat and looks everywhere but at a very hot, very _young_ student. "I expect you to do all work in the future, Mr. Alvarez. If you don't understand a concept, I can suggest an after-school tutor for you—"

"Can't. Work."

He doesn't want to do this, but having a kid fail in his class is worst. He takes a deep breath. "How does your lunch hour sound? I'm free."

Alvarez—Cougar—_his student_ gives him a long, assessing look before nodding his agreement and leaving the room.

* * *

Jensen is ashamed to admit he watches Cougar's battered pick-up truck until it vanishes around a corner. Leaning back on his chair, he loosens his tie and tugs at the too-tight neck. Shit. This has the potential to be the stupidest thing he's ever done and, most assuredly, the end of his teaching career.


	2. Losers of the Year

**Author**: Snarkcasm  
**Chapter Title**: Losers of the Year  
**Rating**: Mild T throughout. K+ in this section for naughty words, mentions of threesomes.  
**Summary**: Jensen finds out how _awesome_ threesomes are and learns a bit about his mysterious student, Carlos Alvarez.  
**Warnings**: Vague mentions of threesomes. Tiny amounts of slash. A month from the first chapter (in the timeline). Unbeta-ed, again.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Losers or its characters. It's all Jock and Diggle and DC Vertigo's domain. I'm just a poor schmuck who enjoys the movie to pieces.  
**Author's note: **Thank you all for your support! I'm not really one for IP multi-chaptered works, so let's see how this goes!

* * *

"Stacy's mom has got it goin' onnnnn. She's all I want and I've waited for so looooooooong!" Jensen warbles as he jogs up his driveway, Harley Quinn running beside him, tongue and tail wagging. He bends down to smoosh her face. "Stacy, can't you see, you're just not the girl for meee—"

"What the hell is that noise?"

"Hello, Pooch!" Jensen raises one arm in eager acknowledgement. His neighbor, a good-natured man with a shaved and/or bald head (Jensen hasn't asked him yet, but he's damn close), threatens him with his spatula. Jensen leans against the fence, Harley chuffing and whining at the smell of meat. "That was grade-A singing, buddy. Whatcha makin'?"

"Food."

"What kind of food?"

"Edible." Jolene, Pooch's wonderful wife, smacks him in the arm as she passes. Pooch yelps.

"Hello, Jensen. Thirsty?" He'd be crazy to pass on Jolene's Sweet Tea. He likes her, has ever since he moved in. She's the maternal sort, always checking in to make sure he eats (because sometimes he forgets to) and taking care of his pitiful garden. He vaults over the fence and lets Harley in through the gate. The rambunctious golden retriever bounds over to Pooch and begs.

"Oh no you don't, you scavenger. Get out of here," the bald man shoos. He accidentally drops a hotdog, which Harley gleefully gobbles up. She trots away with a superior look on her doggy face. "Man, J, that dog's even more annoying than you!"

"That's impossible!" Jensen kisses Jolene on the cheek for getting him a glass of her tea and goes right back to arguing with Pooch. "First off, I can talk. Secondly—"

"We got it. All hail Jensen, the Super Annoyer," Pooch says drily, a smile on his face.

Jensen leans back in his chair preening for his imaginary crowd. He sits up suddenly, hand stroking his new goatee-thing in a thinking pose. "Hey! Speaking of unrelated topics: d'you wanna know who creeps me the fuck out? The gym teacher."

"Roque? Yeah, he's intense, but he's a good guy at heart."

"The dude throws _knives_ at his students! How is that 'good at heart'?" The blond gesticulates, adding air quotes for emphasis.

Pooch dismisses Jensen's concerns with a shrug and a burger flip. "They're plastic, man. It's a motivator and a damn good one."

"Wait, that's motivation? So, if I threaten to throw a keyboard at a kid's face, I get rewarded? What the actual fuck?" He's genuinely concerned because if throwing knives at one's students is the norm at this apparently fucked up school, he doesn't know if he can handle it. He already has one student paying way too much attention to him.

Jolene ruffles Jensen's spiky hair. "Well, I wouldn't try that just yet, sweetie. He has tenure. Plus, he's kinda connected." Husband and wife share a look. Jensen wants to get in on that look.

"Connected, how? Like, mafia?" He whispers, darting a look around suburbia. If William Roque is 'connected', he's going to stay away from the gym. He's seen mobster movies before; he doesn't want a horse's head in his bed. Blood stains worse than margarita spills and he likes his sheets.

"No, more like," Jolene pauses, a considering look on her face. "Um, _connected_…at the hip…to our boss."

Jensen slams a hand on the table. Harley barks at the loud noise. "Now I _know_ you're fucking with me! Clay is with al-Fadhil. I know this for a fact." And, he's positive if Clay is cheating behind her back, they'll need to find a new principal very, very soon. His former advisor is a terrifying woman. Jolene covers his hand with her much softer one. Her perfume wafts in the mild breeze and it reminds him so much of _home_ he smiles.

"Honey, have you ever heard of an open relationship?" Husband and wife share another look. Jensen's eyes widen. Oh.

_Oh._

* * *

Threesomes are officially the best thing ever, next to chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and Journey. He lays back as Jolene snuggles into his side and Pooch grabs a blanket to throw over them. He's sweaty, sticky, and all around gross but sex definitely relaxed him. Half asleep, he regards both of them. "You guys?" His voice is scratchy and he's flushed from remembering how he got a sore throat. For such a lovey-dovey couple, the Porteous's had no qualms fitting in another person into their (surprisingly hot) sex life.

"What?" Pooch's voice is also deeper and Jensen's toes curl just hearing it. Jolene shifts, running a proprietary hand down her husband's chest before palming Jensen's hip.

"What's wrong?" She looks straight at him and she's beautiful, possessiveness and caring wrapped up in one petite woman. If he has any doubts about this, looking at her just erases them. This is what he needs. The whole Cougar Situation is out of control now. He can trust them; he knows he can.

Every day for a month, **he **shows up at Jensen's lunch hour and ruins his life just a little bit more. Granted, he practically gave his student carte blanche when he told Alvarez he'd tutor him at lunch, but Jensen thought it would only take a few days to get him on track. Cougar's not stupid (and Jensen can prove it), but Jensen just can't _not_ help him. If Jensen refuses to see him for sanity's sake and he gets a failing grade, Jensen's ass is on the line. He doesn't want to be the bad guy (or fired or in jail), but this is tearing him apart.

He asks for his glasses and shoves them on his face. With his vision restored, he feels less vulnerable. "What do you know about Carlos Alvarez?"

Jolene takes the question. "As his guidance counselor, I can't tell you anything too personal, just public record. He's the eldest of five children. He holds a job while maintaining a relatively good GPA. He's the captain of the soccer team. All that jazz. But, I've noticed he tends to be quiet and reserved, but never failing in girlfriends." This is said with a crooked grin as she traces random patterns on his skin. Jensen, too, had noticed the girls vying for Cougar's attention. It's annoyance, he has to remind himself every time he sees his student with yet another girl on his arm, and not jealousy. Never jealousy. "Why do you want to know?" Her question brings him back to the present.

"No reason. He asked for some extra help for my class and I've been working with him for about a month now. He seems like a bright kid, so I don't know why he needs my help every day."

Pooch rolls his eyes. "Jensen, I can't understand you when you talk normally. Maybe he needs help translating 'technobabble'. Don't worry about it." With a yawn, he rolls over, or tries to, when Jolene slaps his ass. The loud, fleshy noise has Jensen wincing in sympathy. Pooch turns around and makes a face. "Dammit, woman!"

"Don't 'woman' me, Linwood. Jake has a genuine concern!" Fearing Jolene's slap, Jensen doesn't mock her husband's first name even though he really, _really_ wants to. "If you think he's not getting it, suggest another teacher. Just because he's in your class doesn't make him only your responsibility. I'm sure Miss Collins can help him just as well." Fuck, the Situation just got a million times easier just by talking with someone who understands. His sister is awesome, but she doesn't know what it's like being a teacher (just like he's clueless in anything involving nursing). Thank God for Jolene.

"Make sure you get whatever-the-hell-'it'-is figured out before the next game. I don't wanna lose to the friggin' Game Cocks." He yelps as Jolene smacks him again. "Ow! Dammit, woman!"

"Go to bed. Both of you," she says through a yawn as she puts her head on Jensen's chest. Her hair tickles and he's not used to it. He has the feeling he will soon. "Y'all are making me breakfast tomorrow."


	3. Rock and Rollin'

**Author**: Snarkcasm  
**Chapter Title**: Rockin', Rollin'  
**Rating**: Mild T throughout. K+ in this section for naughty words.  
**Summary**: The threesome thing is hammered out (with words), Jensen wears the wrong colors to school, and the author earns the parody category.  
**Warnings**: Vague mentions of threesomes. Tiny amounts of slash. Unbeta-ed, again.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Losers or its characters. It's all Jock and Diggle and DC Vertigo's domain. I'm just a poor schmuck who enjoys the movie to pieces.  
**Author's note: **Seriously, you guys are amazing. Never had I smiled so hard! Y'all's reviews are just the right kind of encouragement! Also, I went to a school that was really serious about football (even though they rarely won)…but not this serious, sometimes. Bonus points to whoever guesses the school's soccer team name. Hint: The school is called Clearwater and it's a military force (think alliteration).

* * *

He thinks next morning is going to be awkward. Truthfully, he welcomes it and the regret sure to follow. Pooch and Jolene are a wonderful couple and he doesn't want to destroy that. Mutual regret makes things easier. He wakes up before the sun, as he conditioned himself to, and slowly works himself out of their octopus-like embraces. It takes him a while to find his boxers, but when he does (they were under the bed), he shoves them on and ventures around the house. It's tastefully decorated, Jolene, but functional, Pooch; a perfect blend of both its homeowners' personalities. The light glinting off the hallway mirror draws his eye and he moves forward. The sun isn't completely out yet, but even in the dim lighting, he can see the bruises and scratches. He touches a mark near his heart and wonders which one did it before dismissing the thought. There's nothing above the neck, but he won't be able to wear his favorite tee-shirt button downs today.

He rubs his wrist. Long-sleeved it is. Out of curiosity, he pads to the kitchen. Was Jolene serious last night? An invitation to breakfast, even though he was making said breakfast, seems permanent. The last thing he needs as a new teacher is the pressure of a relationship or drama. He's already living out one cliché here, he doesn't need two. Speaking of clichés, what is he going to do with Alvarez? It's not like he's doing anything wrong, improper, or something he can report to a higher power. He just stares, waiting for _something_. Jensen's close to getting pulled under, he can feel it. Surrender is nigh, gentlemen, abandon ship.

To remove himself from his thoughts, he starts up the coffeepot and thinks about how far behind he is on his student progress reports. That's enough to get him groaning and his mind off Alvarez. Clay's going to kick his ass. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he meanders to the fridge and opens it up. Jolene's a vegetarian from what he can remember, although she eats fish. He can't think of the word right now and cites lack of higher-functioning skills as his excuse. Episcopalian? Nah, that's not right. He's whistling and dancing when Jolene, swathed in a bathrobe and little else, walks in.

"Good morning, Jake."

He startles and looks up from where his head was buried in the mammoth fridge. "Did I wake you?"

"I was awake already." She stretches, voice rough with sleep. He looks at her, really looks at her. Her bathrobe opens a little at her movement and he can see a hickey beginning at the top of her right breast. He never considered the opposite sex before, but he really wants this (whatever it is) to work. "Jake, honey, what are you making?"

He perks up. Cooking is one of his secret passions and he doesn't get to do it very often. "Oh, a frittata from last night's leftovers."

"You didn't forget I'm a pescetarian, right?"

"_That's_ what those are called!"

"Excuse me?"

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish beyond measure. "There's no meat, pinky promise."

"Pooch is going to be pissed."

"Pooch can make his own breakfast."

"The Pooch can do what now?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear…very, very bedraggled and sleep grumpy. Jensen can't resist kissing him on the cheek. He freezes and looks to Jolene for approval. She's not even paying attention, so he thinks he's in the clear. Man, this has the potential to get very awkward very quickly.

He covers up his faux pas by teasing the man. "Who even addresses themselves in the first person, dude?"

"Who says 'dude' anymore, 'dude'?" Apparently, half-asleep Pooch is just as witty as ever. Jensen doffs his imaginary top hat at his opponent with a 'touché'. Pooch grunts and makes his way to the coffeepot, drinking his first cup black. "What's for breakfast?"

"Frittata," both Jensen and Jolene answer. Pooch refills his cup and sits down at table. He's grumbling something under his breath, but no one calls him out on it. Jensen shifts from the stove to the fridge, not quite sure what's proper after-threesome etiquette. He's almost done making breakfast; should he go now? Are his services not required? Maybe he should have put on more than just his boxers and socks.

"Jake, sit down." He sits and waits for the unavoidable. His mouth decides he needs to be more awkward and he can't stop the imminent babble even if he wanted to.

"Hey, I get it. No need to tell me. I got it, one time deal. And I'm fine with that. Totally fine. It was just a little bit of fun, right? Harmless, all-American fun. Well, not all-American because that would be a little weird. Apple pie, Fourth of July, threesomes. One thing is not like the other—"

Pooch glares at him. "Jensen? Shut the fuck up." Jensen shuts the fuck up.

Jolene leans in and puts her hands on top of his. "This doesn't have to be a one-time thing, Jake. It doesn't have to continue. You have the final say, but we're always going to be here for you. You're our friend. It doesn't have to be awkward, okay?"

"But…you guys are married. Like, eternally married. Pooch won't shut up about how wonderful you are! He has, like, a shrine in his classroom. I've seen it! I can't get between that."

"Well, I _am_ wonderful and shrine-worthy, but if I can let you in on a little secret?" She leans in and he does as well. "It was really hot seeing my husband fuck you. I'd like to see it again."

He blushes all the way to his roots.

* * *

Jensen fusses with his shirt buttons. He hates long sleeves passionately, which explains why his only long-sleeved dress shirt is too tight across the chest and arms. And mint green. The last time he worn it was when he was a sophomore in college. He wishes he could roll up the sleeves, but imagining his students asking about his bruises makes him behave.

He rides up to school, surprised at the noisy sea of red and black that greets him. In a daze, he locks up his bike and tries to get through. Some of the students are glaring at him and he checks to see if he's naked. He's not, so what is the problem? Borderline self-conscious, he fights the crowd to his room and takes a deep breath at the peace and quiet. What the hell just happened?

The chants of 'Cougar' have him ducking back outside before he's aware. Honest to God, the rest of the soccer team is carrying a cowboy hat wearing Alvarez on their shoulders while people cheer. A guy streaks down the hall painted in black, red, and white stripes before Roque practically clotheslines him. Yikes! A girl wearing her weight in beads screams out a battle cry. Is he in a bad high school movie or is this for real? He looks around for a video camera but doesn't find one.

What. The. Fuck?

He suffers his classes quietly, ignoring the pointed glares coming from his students and Alvarez's all-knowing smirk. He has no idea why so many of his students are trying to kill him with their eyes. It all comes together at lunch when Alvarez stares at him for a long time before announcing:

"You're wearing our rival's colors." It's the longest sentence he heard the boy say and he's stunned.

"Seriously?" Alvarez nods and Jensen swears, rolling his eyes. "Are you kidding me? My students are trying to glare me to death because I'm wearing the wrong colors?"

Alvarez shrugs and tugs up his cowboy hat. Jensen's ignoring how different (and older and, quite frankly, sexy) the cowboy hat makes him look. "They take _fútbol _seriously."

Jensen's laughing so hard little tears are leaking out of the corner of his eyes. The day's getting to him and a suddenly chatty Alvarez isn't helping. "Holy shit." He looks over to Alvarez and he's slowly shrugging off his non-descript warm-up jacket. "Holy shit!"

Alvarez's eyebrow goes up as he drapes his jacket over Jensen's shoulders and gets in Jensen's personal space. Taken aback, Jensen reflexively tugs his arms through the jacket and breathes in the subtle scent of Cougar. Alvarez smirks again, an infuriating half-grin. "You owe me," he leans in and murmurs right into his ear. Jensen has to close his eyes against the sensation. Not fair, how can he be calm when his student's playing dirty? When he gets the courage to open his eyes again, Alvarez is gone.

Oh, he's in trouble. He should just take off the jacket, put it somewhere where no one can see it, and return it to its proper owner at a proper time. But, if Clearwater is as enthusiastic about their soccer as he thinks they are, he really doesn't want to die because of his poor fashion choice. He zips up Cougar's jacket in determination and ignores how well it fits and the way it smells.

His students don't bother him for the rest of the day and he doesn't know whether to be grateful, mortified, or a fucked-up mash of the two. Pooch corners him in his office come his break period and they talk about their day. Jensen carefully omits anything pertaining to Alvarez (including the jacket he's still fucking wearing). Pooch talks about Jolene. For the first time today, Jensen feels normal and smiles as he tunes out the familiar conversation.

"Are you going to the game tonight?"

Wait, what now? "I'm not really a sports person," he backpedals, wondering when the conversation switched to soccer. Shit.

"Too bad. Jolene loves sports and as a faculty member it's kinda required to come to all the home games. And, with Roque as the coach..." Pooch pauses, serious. "Do you really want to get on that man's bad side?"

Double shit! Jensen sighs, feigning regret as a warning klaxon blares in his mind. Danger, Will Robinson! "Fine, I'll go, but I promise to be extra annoying and ask a lot of stupid questions in retaliation." They shake on it. He can't help but think he just signed his life away before rolling his eyes at his melodramatic behavior. It's just one stupid soccer game. He survived basic training years ago. How hard can watching one stupid soccer game be in comparison?


	4. Don't Give Yourself Away

**Author**: Snarkcasm  
**Chapter Title**: Don't Give Yourself Away  
**Rating**: Mild T throughout. K+ in this section for naughty words.  
**Summary**: Jensen feels like a perv and gets down-n-dirty.  
**Warnings**: Vague mentions of threesomes throughout. Tiny amounts of slash. Unbeta-ed, again.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Losers or its characters. It's all Jock and Diggle and DC Vertigo's domain. I'm just a poor schmuck who enjoys the movie to pieces.  
**Author's note: **Sorry I haven't updated in a while. My laptop's CD drive had a short in it and my roommate's boyfriend just took the damn thing out. I miss it already. But I typed out a little something in my notepad for you guys because you are awesome! The soccer team is the Clearwater Cavalries (I know, I know, it's lame) and the mascot is a horse, for your information.

* * *

Survey says: very hard. Jensen has no idea why he's here battling the elements for a stupid soccer game. Cold, wet, and cranky, he tugs Cougar's warm up jacket tighter and burrows in the surprisingly cozy material. Pooch is quiet next to him, but every time the Cavalries score, he jostles Jensen's arm. On the fifth arm jostle, Jensen has to know: "Man, what is your deal?"

"I'm invested in this game."

"Wait…who'd you find desperate enough to bet on a high school soccer game?"

"Me." Jensen looks up into the stoic face of Ms. Al-Fadhil. He feels his dick retract as she continues to stare out onto the pitch. Jensen looks out as well, breaking his self-made rule. Nothing makes him feel more like a perv than watching Cougar, his student, running up and down the field in short shorts. He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, and claps a hand on Pooch's shoulder, effectively ruining the other man's attention to the game. Around them, the crowd bursts into frenzied cheers. "So…what's happening?" he screams over the din. Pooch gives him an annoyed look and Jensen has to stop himself from pinching his cheek or showing physical attention.

He's not out to his peers yet because talk about awkward, but he has a feeling Clay knows (he doesn't even know how Jolene knew; he has a strong suspicion that woman is psychic). Still and yet, he'd rather not be caught ogling a student or touching a married faculty member inappropriately at a soccer game, thank you very much. That said, there's nothing wrong about annoying the fuck out of said married faculty member. He reminds Pooch of their agreement and Pooch sighs, rubbing his bald/shaved head. "Cavalry scored a live-saving goal. It's all tied up."

"Oh." For lack of anything else to do, Jensen watches the game. He doesn't mean to get involved, but by the next goal, he's jumping up and down, yelling at the refs, and getting his cheek painted red, white, and black by one of his computer students and Cougar's current girlfriend. She swears in Spanish when one of the Game Cocks illegally tackles a Cavalry player by the name of Bartholomew and messes up the thick diagonal line across his face.

"_Lo siento_." She's still angry at the tackle and the blind refs and her Spanish is littered with bitter-sounding curses.

"It's okay." As long as she doesn't poke out his eye, it's all good. She finishes up with a flourish, declaring him ready. At half-time, the Cavalry mascot, a fierce horse in mid rear, taunts the Game Cock's mascot into a major scuffle. Faculty members from both schools spill onto the pitch to stop it. Roque and the other coach are screaming, threatening, and not being helpful. Jensen, squashed between Pooch and Clay, stops a Rooster and a Horse from killing each other. He gets a rooster tail to the face for all his trouble and slips in the mud trying to right himself up. The muck covers everything and he can barely see out of his glasses. Someone grabs his elbow and drags him under the bleachers. "Thanks, Pooch." Some mud gets into his mouth and he spits it out immediately. Ugh.

"Not Pooch." al-Fadhil then. "Are you always this helpless or is it just when I'm around?"

"No, it's pretty much always," he tries to quip. It comes out flat, because there's mud every-fucking-where and he's not a happy camper. His glasses begin to slip off his face but he can't grab them with dirty hands. al-Fadhil grunts, grabs his glasses before he can protest, and puts them back on his face. She cleaned them and he can semi-see through the rough streaks of dirt refusing to come off.

He doesn't realize he's shivering until she says something about it. Cougar's jacket, caked with drying mud, isn't helping at all so he takes it off. At least his thin undershirt gives him a scrap of warmth. His shoes are a lost cause and so are his jeans. The forecast said nothing about torrential downpour so he hadn't thought to bring a spare change of clothing. Lesson learned, Mother Nature, he thinks as he shivers miserably.

al-Fadhil rolls her eyes and taps the bleacher seat above her. "Clay! Get your ass down here before your nerd catches pneumonia and dies!" He really doesn't think he needs Clay's help with anything, but one look from al-Fadhil shuts him up quick. He still remembers asking about hobbies in one of their awkward advisor meetings and her answer. To this day, he can't figure out if her story about collecting human ears was a lie or not.

Either way, he got the hint and stopped with the personal questions.

Clay takes one look at him and snorts. Jensen glares, as effective as a wet kitten. Clay takes off his overcoat and tosses it in his direction. Too wet to keep up pretenses, Jensen hurriedly puts on the jacket and soaks up the residual warmth. His teeth chatter.

"The game's delayed for an undetermined amount of time until everyone pulls their heads out of their asses. I'm taking him to the showers. Save my seat, Aisha."

Jensen's still mouthing her first name, unused to it, when she waves a dismissive hand and leaves with a: "We'll see."

"Outstanding." Clay's big, old bear of an arm wraps around his shoulders in a half-hug. Jensen's no small guy, but Clay's flat-out terrifying. How he became a principal is a mystery to Jensen, but Clearwater's low vandalism and violence rate isn't. Clay drags him to the boy's locker room, shoves him in a stall, and commands him to shower. Jensen can see why no student wants to go to the principal's office now as he strips and jumps under the hot spray.

He uses his nails to slough off the sludge and it's a while until the water runs clean. He murders a song to pass the time. "Jeremiah was a bullfrog. He was a good friend of mine. I never—blah blah—word he said but I helped him sip his wine." Cutting off the water, he debates whether or not to go out there naked (there's no way he's putting on his mud-caked clothing) or wait until Clay yanks him out. Both decisions suck, but option one has the benefit of not being manhandled by his boss.

To be on the safe side, he ducks his head out. Something hits him in the face and he grabs it reflexively. Sweatpants and a shirt, a fucking miracle. He shoves the wonderfully dry, _warm_ clothes on and catches the towel thrown at his face. "Good reflexes." He towels off his hair as he figures out how to respond to his boss's faint praise.

"Er, thanks? Where did you find the clothes?" Clay points to the lost and found box settled in the corner. Huh, that definitely explains why his new shirt is so tight it's practically see-through. "So, is the game still going on?"

Clay puffs on his cigarette before snubbing it out with the heel of his boot. "No. Roque punched the other coach in the face." Jensen winces. These people are seriously crazy. His boss shrugs. "He's a sore loser. The game's been rescheduled for next week. There's a washer and dryer in the back room. Use it." With that, Clay leaves Jensen to breathe freely.

Clay could give his old Drill Instructor a run for his money. He gathers up his dirty clothes, careful to avoid getting any mud on his clean clothes, and washes them. As he waits for the spin cycle, he climbs on top of the dryer and swings his legs like a six-year-old.

"We woulda kicked their asses. No sweat." Jensen perks up at the new voices and wonders if he should leave.

"Those pussies won't know what hit 'em next week."

"_Calme_." Okay, Jensen knows that voice like the back of his hand. He needs to get the hell out of Dodge. Would a window escape be too drastic? He starts looking for a window.

"But Cougs!"

"_No. Tenemos nuestro honor._" After that the Spanish becomes too difficult for Jensen to decipher and he just shuts down, wishing his laundry would hurry the fuck up.

"You're here." Alvarez doesn't seem surprised. Granted, the boy never seems to be any emotion save for intensely creepy. He can feel Alvarez's stare even when he puts his clothes in the dryer. His skin tightens and sweat dots his upper lip. It's dead silent around them; the team must have gone home. This is way too real.

He swings around, bringing his hands up. "Look, Alvarez, I—" He never gets to finish his sentence. Alvarez's mouth is soft and tongue relentless. Jensen tries, he tries so hard, to push him away, but his hands end up curled in a sopping wet jersey. Whenever he backs up to gain perspective, Alvarez follows until Jensen is plastered against the vibrating dryer. He finally rips away and scuttles away, putting the washer between them. "No, this is all wrong. You're a _kid_—"

"'M eighteen," Alvarez interrupts sullenly.

As much as Jensen doesn't like being interrupted, that piece of data stops his mouth and mind dead.

"R-really? Wait…no, I'm still your teacher. You're my fucking _student_. This, this right here, is several shades of wrong, man. No." He hugs the wall and scoots towards the door, not sure if he'd run if Alvarez stepped forward. Luckily for him, his student doesn't move from his spot and he's able to escape, conscience intact.

Jensen's still awake seven hours later at 3:15. He takes a deep breath, Alvarez's lips permanently seared into his eyelids ("'M eighteen" over and over until Jensen swears he's going crazy), and trails a hand down his torso and under his sheets. He's going to hell.


	5. You'll Never Know What You'll Catch

**Author**: Snarkcasm  
**Chapter Title**: You'll Never Know What You'll Catch  
**Rating**: Mild T throughout. K+ in this section for naughty words.  
**Summary**: Jensen gets a call from a special person. There is plenty of bad news to go 'round. Oh, and a POV switch.  
**Warnings**: Vague mentions of threesomes throughout. Tiny amounts of slash. Unbeta-ed, again.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own The Losers or its characters. It's all Jock and Diggle and DC Vertigo's domain. I'm just a poor schmuck who enjoys the movie to pieces.  
**Author's note: **College (yeah, I'm in college—surprise!) is out! After spectacularly kicking my ass throughout this entire semester, it is FINALLY OVER! Sorry this chapter is so short. D:

* * *

Jensen groans, rolls over, and swats the offending alarm clock right off the table. Somewhere his poor clock dies with a pathetic electrical whine as he burrows into his covers unaware. He has two hours to get his ass to school, but he's lacking motivation to get going. He hadn't dreaded school since he was _in_ school, but now he just wants to say "fuck it" and call in sick. Clay would understand. Maybe. Jensen did get soaked at the game yesterday; it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to fake sick.

He punches his pillow in an effort to get comfortable. This whole Cougar Situation is fucked up. Seriously. If he can't go to school because he's fucking _scared_ of seeing his student, then something just ain't right. Jumpin' Jesus on a jungle gym, he can't just not go to work. He gets two sick days a year and he needs to save those for something really important. He won't let his student play him like that. He's Jacob Allen Jensen, and he's a teacher for Pete's sake.

While he's still puzzling out who Pete is and why people are always forsaking him, his cell phone bleeps. He can't just chuck the damn thing out the window like he wants to, so he picks it up, hoping Jolene eases up on the questions today. He's not one of her students; he doesn't like being questioned or studied like one of those stupid lab rats. "'Lo?"

"Jake. He's out."

* * *

Jolene's morning starts out like any other morning, relatively. She wakes up an hour before her husband, takes her shower; readies breakfast. Her first cup of coffee is downed before she even goes outside to grab the paper or check the patio planters. She gulps down her second and third cup waiting for Pooch's lazy ass to stumble down the stairs. God, she loves her husband, but that man is as shiftless as they come. When they first met, her second year in college, she wrote him off right away. University meant one thing to her and one thing only: getting her degree so she could take care of her family. It definitely didn't mean falling in love with an afro-ed slacker mechanic from down the street.

Linwood was so different from any guy she dated. He dressed like a bum and, frankly, acted like a mechanic's idiot savant. Later, she learned he didn't want to be a part of his daddy's legacy and rebelled, running away from home and dropping all responsibilities. Unlike him, she kept her grades up, worked two jobs, and took care of her baby brother, Julius, determined to become someone.

He was a pity date; a pity date she thanks God for every day.

She twists the plain white gold band on her left hand. Mrs. Jolene Anita Cooper-Porteous. It will be nine years this March, nine wonderful years. Since they'd been married for a long time, nothing escapes her notice. Like most couples they had their ups and downs (for instance, seeing your husband eye-fucking the new teacher) but she learned to roll with the punches.

Jensen was, and still is, a welcomed addition, but he is only welcomed because both of them agreed on him. He didn't come to them tonight, but she isn't worried. It's new for everyone involved and the last thing she wants to do is push him.

The phone rings and she jumps, shocked from her reverie. Pushing her bangs back from her eyes, she snatches the phone from its cradle. "Hello?"

"Jolene?" It's Jensen and he sounds panicked. She never heard him sound so scared before and it scares her.

"What's wrong?"

"I…go. I'm not coming…today. Family…wrong."

Her heartbeat increases and her skin prickles. Her stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of her toes. "Jensen, I can't hear you. Where are you?" Wherever he is, it's obnoxiously loud and crowded. Her voice rises to combat the din on his end and she flattens a hand against her free ear. The line cuts off abruptly leaving her with just a dial tone. Frozen, she sets the phone back in its cradle. She fiddles with her ring again,

"Wassamatter, honey?" Pooch's voice is sleep-roughed and his clothes are too when she turns to greet him with a trembling lower lip. He asks his question again, this time sharper. She's not useful to anyone if she's panicked, Jolene realizes this. Still, Jensen's brief phone call has her teary-eyed and rattled. "Jensen called. Something's wrong with him."

"Do you know what?" If she did, she wouldn't be so goddamned shaky; her hands wouldn't be clammy and she wouldn't be resisting the urge to throw up! She backs out of Pooch's embrace, knowing it's not his fault she's worried.

She shakes her head, grabbing her mouth. "I couldn't hear him. It was loud, wherever he was. And he was talking too fast. He said something about 'family', but I…I can't be sure. He said he wasn't coming today. Do you think he meant work?"

Pooch scratches his scalp. The last time she saw him do that was right before their wedding. His nervousness causes her to slap his arm. "Dammit, woman," he says on reflex, visibly calming. A small, fond smile curls at the corners of his lips.

Jolene's suddenly herself, confident and ready to face anything. "He didn't sound hurt," she says, mostly to herself. "I'm going to call Frank and tell him Jensen's not coming into work today." Her husband kisses her on top of her head and throws an arm around her.

"He's gonna be okay."

"He better be or I'm gonna tan his hide." She hides a smile in his flannel shirt. If she sniffles a little, no one calls her on it.

* * *

Jolene raps smartly on the door. Out of everyone working, she's the least afraid of the man behind it. "Enter and make it quick." Straightening out her shoulders, she slinks into the principal's office. Clay is a simple man with simple tastes and his office reflects it. There's a picture of him and his old military buddy he never talks about (Jolene thinks it's because said buddy died in combat but that's neither here nor there), his degrees in administration business and education, and some books. Jolene sits down on a chair opposite of his and smoothes her blouse calmly. "Jensen's sick."

Clay's eyes narrow. "What do you mean 'sick?" Barely audible through the growls, his voice is dangerously sibilant.

"We carpool, sir. So, when we came to pick him up this morning, he could barely talk. I think getting soak did something to him. And, knowing how fast illness spreads around in school, I made him stay home. It's nothing too bad, most likely a cold. It should clear up in no time."

"I'm still down one computer teacher. The classes are too large for the other teacher to take over and it's irresponsible for a new teacher to not warn anyone—"

"It's not like he could, sir," Jolene defends, "He could barely breathe. It's only for a few days. It's not like Ms. Collins never had a huge class before. It'll be fine."

"I hope so, Mrs. Porteous."

She gets up to leave, having overstayed her welcome. "Have a good day, sir."

His slightly manic laugher follows her out the door. Mid-semester breakdowns are never pretty, regardless of who's having them. She dreads the inevitable triple workload.


End file.
